Corruptive Power
by Ice Queen and Hero
Summary: A certain Prussian tricks a very gullible Italian into following what he says, while falsely promising friendship and love. Human names used. No particular ship. Rated T for various themes, including murder, torture, and war. New chapters added and previous chapters updated. Now can be happily proclaimed as a completed work.
1. Twist and Pervert

"Oi, Feli!"

The Italian man blinked turning towards the source of the call. Finding the Prussian man waving at him from to stands over, his face broke out into a grin. He switched the fruit he held into one hand, intent on energetically returning the greeting.

"Ve! Hello, Gilly!"

The Prussian wormed his way through the throng of people at the outdoor market- he would _never_ understand how such a place managed to stay standing- to stand next to the smaller man. He gave a smile, putting as much good nature into his demeanor as he could physically muster. It was a longstanding fact that the Italian responded well to an open and friendly face, even if that face had some odd requests.

"Hey, ya wanna come with me?" would be among the out-of-the-blue type requests.

Gilbert tugged on the sleeve of Feliciano's jacket, his lighthearted attempt at pulling quickly becoming a struggle to get the man to move at all. Feli just watched in confusion, his brows knitting together in an almost foreign expression, as the man made no progress in making the other country budge. It was a habit the Italian picked up a while ago, after he started hanging around Ludwig, that he generally wouldn't be forced to move without Luddy's approval.

"Why?" Feliciano asked, blinking as he lowered the fruit back to the stand. He smiled at the man on the other side of the table, waving in a sort of apology for not purchasing anything.

"Cuz I told ya to!" he chirped. Trying a different tactic, he put his arm around the other's slender shoulders, pulling him into a sideways hug. "Specifically, because I was thinking of making a present for good ol' West, and you're the perfect man to help me out on that."

"Ooh ooh! Si! Present for Ludwig, present for Ludwig!" He nodded ecstatically, wrapping his arms around Gilbert's neck to hang in a blind drape-hug. Startled, Gilbert leg go as the other man just hung there, his grin wide enough to crack the kid's face in half as his head come just below Gilbert's chin.

And he though he was a scary person.

Chuckling out of a sudden feeling of awkwardness, Gilbert put his hands on Feliciano's shoulders to push the man on his own two feet again. "Ya gotta be a little more discreet, kid. It won't be much of a surprise present if West finds out about it."

"Oh, right. Okay!"

Now able to tow the Italian alongside him, Gilbert set out back down the street, smiling to himself as Feli hummed tunelessly.

It was surprisingly easier than he though, getting the Italian to follow him. He had tried the initial tactic just to see if it would work, but had prepared several more arguments to persuade the man to join him. It seemed he over-thought that portion of his plan; Feliciano proved more gullible than he had truly hoped. Perhaps the rest of the idea would go even smoother than he imagined, especially if he found out the proper words to press Feli into following him blindly.

Unfocused on his surroundings, Gilbert let slip a manic grin. This would be _perfect_. It was impossible to screw this up.

"Ve, you seem happy!"

"Oh, of course." Gilbert said, coming back to the present. He smiled at Feli as they turned another corner, his mansion within sight. "Why wouldn't I? I get to spend the day with a friend."

Feliciano beamed, pleased at the other's words. He often wondered, probably to the amazement of those people that he overheard speaking ill of him, why he seemed so much more needy and, to the best of his vocabulary, _high-maintenance_ around Ludwig. With Gilbert, he needed only a simple assurance of his status so infrequently that it often slipped his mind to maintain his friendship with the Prussian. A pang of anxiety shot through him- did Ludwig mind that he needed to hear those words almost hourly? Surely if it bothered him, Ludwig would have told him, right? Then his behavior certainly couldn't be that atrocious. Right?

Oh dear.

Gilbert watched as Feli's exuberant mood quickly fell. He arched a brow, wondering at the thought pattern that could take the normally energetic man to this level of quiet pondering. He'd inquire about it later; maybe it'd be useful to his overarching goal.

It didn't take them much longer to get to the gate of Gilbert's mansion, and the Prussian was almost tripping over himself in his urgency to continue the rest of his plan. Imagining the sweet taste of it carried out to completion split his face into smile again. _How lucky_, he thought. _The weather seems to share my mood._

He only hoped that the warm and gently breezy day would put the Italian to rest a bit. It might derail the rest of his day if the man didn't unwind.

Quickly fishing out a key to the front door- _giant mansion and not a single person on staff, thanks West_- he pulled the lumbering piece of wood open and ushered his guest inside, watching the man become distracted by his thoughts with the decorations of the foyer.

"Wow!" Feli exclaimed, lifting his head up to gaze at the ceiling a few dozen feet above their heads. "All the paintings, it's so warm!"

The man quickly swayed off to admire other pieces of the room, gaining speed and energy until he was practically back to the fast-paced behavior he had at the market. Gilbert heard him call out observations and questions, never giving an answer as the Italian never expected one, as he flitted about, poking at vases and cooing at artwork.

"Ve, Gilly. Do you have any food?"

"It's not anywhere near dinnertime yet. You're actually hungry?"

"Well," the man said, staring down at his feet as he toed the edge of the carpet with his shoe before smiling back up to Gilbert. "I was going to buy my midday snack before we came over here, but I think I completely forgot about it!"

Gilbert watched the man's vacant and pleased expression, somehow not upset that he had disturbed his daily rituals with food. "I'll be sure to… uh… make something… after we start on the present."

"Oh, right!" The Italian bounced on toes, bending forward to close some distance between the two in his excitement. "Present for Ludwig! Where do we go?"

Gilbert smiled at the others mood and nodded to follow him down the halls, smirking as the man practically bounced off the walls, spewing barely-coherent sentences about how happy Ludwig would be with the present.

Rolling his eyes at joke that flitted through his mind, he pointed to the chair in front of his desk as they entered his study. Following the order for once, the Italian sat down and crossed his legs, his mile blissful and tranquil. Gilbert wondered how Feliciano managed to be so easily amused and happy. He also wondered if those mood shifts could easily be broken to something colder.

"All right then," Gilbert started, waving his hand to the photo books on his desk. "Your job is to pick out a picture or two where both you and West look happy and friendly. We will then take those photos and put them on a shiny, sparkly poster board, and force Ludwig to keep it in his room. Does that sound like an awesome gift or what?"

"Si, si! But only a couple? There are plenty of pictures where Ludwig and I are happy!"

"I'm sure you're right," Gilbert said, forcing his voice to match the other's tone. "But this is a relatively small present. Only two will fit. Sorry."

"Oh. Right. Okay then."

Eliciano nodded and lurched forward in his seat to grab the albums, flipping through the pages with his tranquil and content smile. That smile quickly faltered with a sound of confusion. Putting that one down beside him on the floor- a quick note in his mind to check through it a bit more in depth- he looked in another, his confusion turning to dismay. He tried the third and fourth and still found no picture where Ludwig looked willing to be with him, let alone smiling and having fun. His lingering doubts from the walk over- if her were being truthful, those doubts lingered for a lot longer than the stroll- came back to the forefront of his mind. His mood felt instantly crushed; did Ludwig actually think him such a nuisance?

"Why is Ludwig so unhappy with me?" he asked. The question was so quiet that Gilbert hardly caught it. He mostly understood it by reading the man's lips, his focus the only way he knew the man spoke at all.

The Prussian half-smiled, his expression turning to something he hoped was akin to sympathy. He wanted the Italian to feel comforted. "That's because West can't feel crap. He wouldn't know the definition of friend if it stabbed him in the back."

Feli glanced up from where his gaze been dragged to his lap. "I'm not sure… Is that really how that expression goes…?"

Gilbert waved it off. "Does it matter? You're not feeling well. Do you want the dinner now?"

Feli paused, about to shake his head, before Gilbert interjected.

"I'll even make some pasta for ya, how about that?"

"I really… I really don't think I should bother you…"

"Nonsense!"

Feliciano jumped at Gilberts sudden noise and movement. The Prussian stood, the action causing his chair to scrape across the floor, as he slammed his hands down on the table. _Now that I have you attention_, he thought, somewhat surprised at his own bitterness. He didn't need the Italian to dwell on his self-pity or the anxiety that he was as big of an annoyance as everyone said he was.

"In fact, after dinner, I insist you stay the night! Partly to let you get your spirits up, and partly because I'm the only one in the mansion and it's _really_ scary to be here alone. Ya know what I mean?"

Feli nodded, and Gilbert could hear the faintest of sniffles from the man as he tried not to cry.

"Wonderful! You're a great friend, you know? It's absolutely horrible to be the only one here for so long. Almost feels like a punishment."


	2. Kill and Arrest

He lazily watched the sniveling man across from him, leaning heavily on his fist, keeping his torso propped up on the table. Gilbert mentally scolded himself for not preparing for early mornings- the ease of not being a true country was hard to shake- but at least it didn't seem like Feliciano cared. If the choked sobs were anything to go by, the man's mood had only worsened over the night, when left to his own devices in his room. The Prussian only hoped that his current mind set would be open to more suggestion. He never really could tell with people, what they would or wouldn't do in a given situation. Perhaps that's why he lost.

"Look, kid, ya gotta eat. At least _something_. A fruit or whatever."

Gilbert grimaced as Feli's breath hitched. If his plan worked as he hoped, that pesky action wouldn't have to be endured for much longer.

"Scusa… I'm just not feeling up to food…"

"I have a hard time believing that."

The Prussian pushed himself up from the table to scour around his kitchen. He didn't make it a habit to keep fresh produce or general light meals around. Finding something that the man wouldn't vomit over the course of the day would prove difficult, but he was adamant about trying.

He felt a headache begin to twinge in the back of his skull from the Italian's constant tiny noises. _Suck it up_, the man thought violently. _It's not the goddamn end of the world if someone hates you._ It would be a personal achievement if he trudged though this part of the plan without slipping his ruse- that small and sad heap of emotion was just so _grating_.

He practically threw the package of grapes from his fridge at Feliciano, startling the poor man into shutting up. "Eat."

The Italian almost protested, looking up to his friend with the intent to decline the offer, but stopped at the unreadable look he saw on the other's face. Instead he nodded, slowly grabbing the bag of fruit, eating each grape individually as his companion sat back into his chair. The man looked exhausted. Feli wondered if he kept the other up with his crying last night, and suffered the pain that thought caused him. He was just a pathetic mess, wasn't he?

"Hey, kid. I ain't one to be empathetic. Or sympathetic. Or pretty much anything to do with caring for another person's thoughts. But you seem pretty torn up. Can I help?"

The Italian shrugged, thinking, before his vitality harshly returned. He shook his head vigorously, waving a hand in front of him as if to paw the idea off the table. "No, no! I'm fine, see? I don't want to be a bother!" That was the last thing he wanted. He had already inflicted his curse on Luddy for so long, he didn't want to make anyone else grow to hate him.

"You wouldn't be a bother." Gilbert narrowed his eyes, before switching his tone and expression from the tired and serious state it had been. "I'd love to help, especially a friend like you! Maybe I could teach you how to be a little more mellow, eh? Does that sound good?"

"Would… Would you really do that for me?" Feli asked, his sad mood lifting a bit.

"Of course. Anything for a friend."

It took several beats as the man though it over- Gilbert could practically see the cogs turn in that poor unused brain of his- before the Italian's face broke out into his characteristically ecstatic smile.

"Ve!" He practically cooed. "Thank you!"

"It won't be a simple thing, ya know? You're going to have to work hard."

"Si, si!"

"Do everything I say."

"Si!" he drew the word out.

"Ya can't complain that it's too harsh."

He watched the man nod, his hair flailing all over the place in his enthusiasm. The smaller nation could seem to sit still in his seat now, eating the grapes with gusto as he twisted around in glee. "If I'm not a bother to Ludwig, I don't care!"

Gilbert smiled as the other man finished his meager breakfast, motioning him to follow. "Then we'll get started, yeah? No time like the present."

* * *

><p>"Again."<p>

"Didn't I do it just like you said?"

"Do it _again._ This is a strength and reflex exercise. A more soldier-like mindset will help with ol' West's seeming hatred of you."

"Oh… Right. I'm sorry."

He watched the Italian push himself to his feet, lurching just a bit from the soreness of his muscles. Gilbert was honestly surprised he managed to coax Feliciano into this obstacle course, as the entire thing screamed torture and illegality. The amount of times he had to invoke the words _friend_ and _Ludwig_ was shockingly low; those words were the key to Feli's manipulation, at least with this, but he was still amazed at their effects. It seemed that, if pushed, the Italian didn't lack much when it came to motivation.

Though he would have to pick his words with more care. Feliciano's mood darkened again, and he didn't seem to try as hard to pass through the course. He watched the man fumble in his fatigue, tripping over wires and gagging at the smell of rotting animals- soldiers had strength of mind and body, so kill two birds with one stone- as he pushed himself to almost fall at Gilbert's feet.

There was a strong urge for Gilbert to clap; after all, he had just coerced another country to willingly torture himself not once, but six times. However, self-congratulations, at least in this instance, would be taken as encouragement by his companion, and he had to carefully control how much encouragement he received. Too much, and all this was for vain- he would just stay soft. Too little, and he wouldn't bother getting up again.

"One more time, I think, will be enough. Lucky number seven for the rest of your training."

Feliciano, who had just managed to arrest his breathing back from near- hyperventilation, nodded in a huff before turning to the course once more. The man wobbled more than he ever had previously, constantly missing his timing for jumps and instead falling into pits of mud and manure. _Pick your words with the fucker, you idiot_, Gilbert seethed to himself. _That twat won't do a thing if you go easy on him._ He should have just forced the man to go through it again and later tell him he was finished. That would have kept the quality of his performance up, at the very least. Damn it, did he have to plan out every conversation he would have with the Italian? He didn't have the patience for that!

He tensed and quickly shook off the anger that surged up. No need to scare the smaller nation away, especially when he was a stupidly critical part of his plan. He wished West picked friends a bit more carefully, but then again, if he had anyone less stupid as a friend, Gilbert's plan wouldn't be capable of its linear motion. He smiled, his face arranging to a pleasant and somewhat proud expression. Just enough encouragement, hopefully. Working with people was never his strong suit.

"Good job, Feli," Gilbert said as the nation slumped onto the ground in front of him. "That was hard work. Ya probably feel like washing up, yeah? You can use the shower, if ya want."

The Italian forced himself onto shaking arms, practically kneeling in front of Gilbert, to the other's secret amusement. "Tha… Thank you," Feli panted, his breath not completely back. The air he pulled into his lungs felt off, as if his throat was scraping away the usefulness and leaving his chest hollow no matter how deeply he breathed. He hated this feeling, but he was too exhausted to complain. Besides, he had promised, and he didn't want to disappoint his friend. Especially after allowing a poor excuse of a soldier like him to train using the other's equipment.

Gilbert turned to go inside, only pausing at the door to watch his companion struggle to keep up. The weakness from the day's strain could prove hazardous, so Gilbert made a point to keep nearer to him as he led the exhausted country to a bathroom. The house was too large to let the other nation freely choose- the amount of time Gilbert would spend finding the shower Feli had used would be wasted when he needed to set up the next stage.

So after holing him up in a ground floor bathroom- _do not_ let the limping person try to climb stairs- Gilbert left to arrange pieces in another part of the house. It was simple, nothing extravagant, not needing anything more complicated than a locking mechanism. The most preparation he actually did was collect the tools into one spot.

Pleased with the speed his plan was proceeding at, he returned to the kitchen to quickly put together some food. The training had lasted for a few hours, and the grapes he made the nation eat wouldn't have been enough even if he didn't go through strenuous exercise. He didn't need the man breaking down from starvation, yet. So he kept his friendly façade long enough to boil a pot of water for some pasta.

He heard the taps to the shower stop running and smiled. Grabbing a towel- something particularly fluffy that he didn't actually remember buying- he knocked on the other side of the door, calling to Feli that he had a towel and that he'd take care the now filthy uniform the other nation had borrowed.

"Ah, thank you!" Feliciano exclaimed, returning the grin his friend was giving him.

"Ready for the next step to getting Ludwig to like you?"

Feliciano paused, tensing, before fastening the towel around his waist. He looked to Gilbert with a sheepish expression.

"I, uh." He laughed. "I thought we were done for today?"

"It's nothing like what you were doing earlier, I promise. You don't even have to stand."

"Oh. Well. Okay, I guess."

Feli nodded and Gilbert grinned wider, nodding the refreshed man to follow him. He hummed a bit to himself as he led the still slow other to the kitchen, putting in pasta to cook while heating up sauce. There was a certain relief in the fact that the dish was incredibly easy to prepare; he hated extravagance and effort in meals, especially when it wasn't his.

Quickly piling the pasta onto a plate, he slid it on the table for the other to dig in.

Gilbert blinked at the sudden return of energy as Feliciano ate without actually taking time to chew. He felt sauce splatter onto his face as the violent consuming of spaghetti threw it across the table, and he tried not to outwardly show his annoyance at the brazen demeanor of his companion. At least, he didn't show it much. He wasn't looking forward to cleaning once the day's second lesson was done.

"Thank you!" Feliciano said, sitting up and away from the mess of pasta on the empty plate.

"No… problem…" Gilbert murmured, taking the plate to set it in the sink. "Are you ready for part two?"

The Italian nodded, standing to follow. He didn't seem to mind that he was in only a towel, or he had completely forgotten his state of undress. His resolved faltered a bit, Gilbert noticed, when he realized that he was following into a cellar- specially modified to be separate from the rest of the basement- but still walked along. Gilbert was privately amazed, again, at the ease of trust and manipulation he could use on Feli.

"Careful down the stairs," he muttered. He waited for the other to slowly descend, trying his best not to aggravate the sore muscles, and pointed to the far wall. "Could ya stand over there? Actually, you could sit if you wanted."

Feliciano nodded, sitting with a wince, as Gilbert fiddled with things on a collapsible table. He looked over to Feli when he was done and smiled, attempting to put the other at ease if he was nervous. He honestly couldn't tell a lot of the time with people, and even with Feli's unusual expressiveness, it proved difficult.

"Do ya trust me, kid?"

"Si," Feliciano almost sang.

"And this is all for Ludwig?"

"Si."

"Okay then. I really want to ask you to accept what I'm gonna do, all right?"

The Italian looked confused, but nodded, looking at the sudden serious face of his friend.

Gilbert bent, focused on something to Feliciano's side- it was heavy and made a metallic clinking- and snapped something around the Italian's wrists.

He held up the chain to face, squinting to better see in the dark room. "Um, Gilly?"

"Don't worry, kiddo. Everything'll be fine."


	3. Walk and Refine

"Shh."

Feliciano grunted, flinching as Gilbert moved his hand again. He squirmed in his seat on the floor, trying unsuccessfully to move closer to the wall.

"Stop wiggling, kid."

Feli mumbled something; his voice was muffled but high enough in pitch to tell Gilbert he was whining.

"This is a _good_ thing, remember? Isn't this for West?"

The chained nation moved again, accidentally forcing Gilbert cut deeper than he intended. He let out an exasperated snarl as Feliciano screamed, moving the knife in his hand to his captive's throat.

"Stop. Moving. This isn't supposed to kill you."

The Adam's apple under his knife bobbed, and he could see unshed tears in the frightened eyes looking up at him. Deciding to take that as an understanding, Gilbert returned to work, only deviating his unhurried carving to take superficial slices at Feliciano's biceps. The other man squeaked, the sound not at all dampened by the cloth tied around his head. Gilbert took a moment to think about switching the cloth to duct tape, but decided against it; this way, Feliciano had something to bite other than his tongue while enduring the pain. No need to leave the nation an opening to cut his lessons short.

Gilbert returned to slowly dragging his knife through the Italian's skin, watching the blood soak the towel that had long lost its bleached white look. He didn't particularly gain pleasure from this, but it hardly put him off. It was too necessary, given his current need. Hopefully, it wouldn't take much of this to make the mind before him completely malleable; he was nearly there already, perhaps extended time wouldn't be required.

He moved his ministration down to Feliciano's thighs, delicately slicing enough to go through skin, but not muscle. Rendering him lame would be counterproductive to the plan of having an able-bodied slave. It was simpler to cut at the shins, nicking deeper beside the bone, but the sensitivity of that area caused Feli to cringe away and risk further damage from jostling- damage that Gilbert didn't want to inflict.

After a few hours, the Prussian pulled away, standing to drop the knife in a bucket of rubbing alcohol before shuffling through the other items on a collapsible table. He picked up a packet and ripped it open, moving to crouch in front of Feliciano again after grabbing a handful of gauze pads.

Taking some of the ointment in the packet onto his fingers, he smeared it into shallower of the cuts, ignoring the flinching and groaning from Feli. Gangrene and other fatal infections weren't on the list of things that needed to happen to his captive, so Gilbert was diligent in maintaining the still trickling wounds. He paused to get a stronger antiseptic for the deeper wounds, then taped gauze over them, making sure to keep the edges sealed from dirt.

Gilbert patted his hand on the side of Feli's head, giving a half-smile to the man's tear-filled and utterly betrayed expression before standing again to wipe his hands clean. He left without another word, locking the door without the slightest glance to the man chained to the wall.

He was still a little bit irritated that he had to clean up the kitchen from the glutton's horrible table manners. Gilbert supposed that would be something to fix as well, though he imagined the source of it was his impulsiveness. One of the traits to be snuffed out, to be sure.

Feli slumped in the dark room, his body throbbing in time to his erratic heartbeat. He felt like vomiting, his insides were twisting so much. Worry coursed through his head, pulling up fear as its companion, to spin images in the darkness before him. He feebly tried the chains at his wrists, pulling forward just to be stopped by the metal links, and quickly resigned himself to his lack of strength.

How was this helping him? How was exhausting and then torturing him going to make him a better friend? Was this to make him a soldier? Was this punishment for his performance in training? _What did I do wrong?_

He hiccupped, wincing as the small sob jostled the cuts and sore muscles. He was _sure _that Gilbert didn't mean him any harm. His friend had promised to make him better, less annoying, less bothersome. Was there a way he was supposed to act? He probably shouldn't cry, but it was so hard to keep his eyes dry. It just hurt so much, from his skin to his muscles to his heart, it felt impossible to do anything but sit and cry for himself.

Ludwig would be able to tell him what to do. That he was doing something wrong and that Ludwig had to fix it. Like how he could never come up with a strategy, so Ludwig gave him orders on how to move his army. How he could never succeed by himself, and Ludwig would come in to save him.

No. Ludwig wasn't supposed to save him. That's why he was here. Maybe he could get away from Gilbert himself. Maybe that was why Gilbert was doing it. Gilbert must be showing him hell so that he could get stronger. That had to be it. Gilbert was such a great friend, helping him like that when he didn't get anything from it. It must be hard for his friend, doing this. But he trusted that his friend was doing the right thing.

It was just so dark though. Suffocating and oppressive. He didn't want to learn how to be better in such a cold place. He was scared of it. He could see so many dark images painted in the corners, his anxiety playing tricks. He could almost hear words with it, telling him how terrible he was. He wasn't a good friend. He was bothering Gilbert, making him do this. He constantly bothered Ludwig, making this necessary.

Feliciano waited for his friend to return, to turn on the lamp on the table and push away the darkness.


	4. Govern and Lose

It was hours, or maybe a day, before Gilbert came back. It was really impossible for Feliciano to tell. He couldn't use the state of his body as a measure of time, as his stiffness and soreness started shortly into the session with Gilbert's knife, and he didn't think that asking was something he should do. His voice was hoarse from screaming and crying; he wouldn't inflict it on his helpful friend.

He didn't think he slept, but he wasn't able to tell the difference in darkness to know. He just knew, painfully, that Gilbert was in the room with him, the bright light spilling in around him and blinding Feliciano. The larger man's steps down to the basement floor seemed loud, though his voice made Feli flinch at the unexpected volume.

"Eat."

Gilbert was sitting in front of him, holding a spoon up to his face. He didn't realize the man had removed his cloth gag; his was numb and his jaw popped as it moved.

He couldn't tell what was on the spoon, and with the dryness of his mouth he couldn't taste it. He swallowed with trouble, the lack of spit making the porridge like substance as difficult to eat as a cracker. The next spoonful was easier, and he could get the hint of taste, and it kept improving until he had finished the small bowl that Gilbert brought. It was plain oatmeal; definitely not something designed to stimulate his taste, just something to keep him fed.

Gilbert put the bowl aside and held a glass of water to his lips. _That_ was heavenly. He hurried to drink it, coughing a bit as he nearly inhaled it, but quickly finished the small glass.

"Idiot. Do you want Ludwig to see you dead?"

Feli looked down as Gilbert forced a new cloth around his head and across his mouth.

"I don't suggest thinking very long on your situation, kid, as odd as it sounds. All ya gotta know is that I'll make you into a soldier Ludwig would be proud of. I promise."

Feli nodded as Gilbert took a new packet of ointment and went over his wounds. They didn't hurt as badly, though his muscles were almost locked up in the position he had held for so long. Gilbert checked the deeper wounds, the ones Feli had practically inflicted on himself with his weakness, and nodded, apparently pleased about their state.

When Gilbert took a new knife from the table, Feli mentally prepared himself. As the knife started drawing over the skin of his forearm, the Italian forced himself not to move. He grunted in pain sometimes, but remained as tense as possible to resist flinching. He didn't want to force his friend into anything. He yelped as the knife drew too hard over the back of his hand, his instinct to move away from the pain overcoming his will.

He heard Gilbert grumble before moving on to his other arm, repeating the process, down to the cut across the back of his hand. Feli fared better that time, managing to keep fairly still despite the intense and burning pain. The light cuts felt somewhat itchy. That might drive him insane.

This session was shorter than the other one, with Gilbert wrapping up and applying ointment and bandages within what felt like an hour.

And then Gilbert was gone again, leaving Feliciano alone. He wished that didn't happen. He wished he were strong enough without having to go through something like this. That he would never have to experience the darkness like this. A completely sealed, well-made, and well-kept cellar. It didn't have a window or even a crack to allow any form of light through, either from the sun or the moon.

He actually couldn't remember what day of the month it was. Perhaps there wasn't even a moon shining at night for him to see by. May as well, since it wouldn't serve him any use.

His loneliness never changed much. Gilbert came by often to slice and doctor, taking care to change the area of his body. For several sessions, Feli lied on his stomach while Gilbert straddled his waist, cutting through skin across his shoulders and back, moving down to his legs, just to create a cycle as he cut Feliciano's torso again. Always trying not to cut too deep, and always applying rudimentary first aid at the end. If Feli didn't know it was for his health, he would swear the ointment was meant as a second torture, wringing more stinging pain from his cuts that the blade didn't do initially.

It was during the fourth cycle of moving across the areas of his body that Feli stopped flinching. It hurt, but he could overcome it. It stung, but he didn't cry. There was always that burning itching from the healing cuts, but he could squash the madness it brought up.

He wasn't scared of the dark. The dark didn't bring him any harm.

Gilbert stopped in the middle of the session, seeming to finally notice Feliciano's lack of response. The Prussian initially narrowed his eyes, checking his captive's pulse to make sure he was still alive, as the Italian's expression was that of someone dozing off.

The sudden change in pattern confused Feli, making him blink and struggle to raise his head to look. He tried to communicate his confusion with only his face, but it was difficult. He couldn't quite remember how to properly move his muscles into the expression he wanted. He wasn't even sure if he remembered how to speak after so many weeks.

Gilbert's serious look changed to a grin, the first sign of emotion Feli had seen from him in quite some time. He watched as the other man stood and went through the motions of the end of a session, applying ointment and bandages, dropping the knife in a bucket of disinfectant. Occasionally, it also included forcing the Italian to stand and relieve himself, but that was infrequent. Blessing of being nonhuman, he assumed.

This time, it deviated in the form of Gilbert returning to the table to grab a key. Unlocking the chains at the Italian's wrists, he pulled the frail man up, steadying him enough to rewrap the towel that was covered in all sorts of filth. He acted as a crutch, both of them moving with little more sound than grunting, as they went up the stairs.

Feliciano let out a hissing noise between his teeth as they reached the top. Gilbert flung open the door with no heed to his captive's light-deprived eyes, instead leading the fumbling and blinded man through the house. There were more stairs- Feli remembered feeling them rather than seeing them- and eventually the sound of another door opening. He had yet to bother to open his eyes and try readjusting, trusting the man beside him to lead him wherever they need to go.

And, apparently, the place Feli needed to be was on the floor, as Gilbert stopped supporting him once they pushed into the room, letting the weakened Italian to collapse on himself.


	5. Insane Power

Feli had almost no intention of opening his eyes. Whatever he was lying on was unfamiliar and was definitely not the hard stone of the basement he'd known for so long. He would venture on a guess that it was a dream, but he had stopped remembering those. They probably weren't anything good anyway. He didn't need them. They would distract him from his goal. He needed Gilbert to teach him to be a good soldier, so Ludwig would like him.

He would tack on _again_ to the end of that thought, but he was quite sure now that the tall German never truly did in the first place.

He heard rhythmic thuds below him. They reverberated a bit through the walls, but he could recognize the pattern. Gilbert was doing something downstairs, most likely preparing whatever step was next in his training. He hoped the man wouldn't take pity on him because of how weak he'd gotten. There wasn't any point in letting up now. And besides, he knew he was ready to be a better friend. All it would take was Gilbert pushing on in his training, to believe that he wasn't a failure just because he wasn't in the healthiest of states.

God, he just hoped.

Gilbert was hurrying in setting up the next step. He cleaned and disinfected the basement first, as the smell had begun to bother him when he had to go down there. But that was an easy chore, and the rest of it fell into place. He gathered up his supplies from the table, thankfully no longer needing them, and replaced them with a single, other supply. He was sure this step was long since ready to be taken, but it was only Feliciano's recent lack of expression that made him convinced.

He set up the missing piece, the chains clinking as the cuffs locked, and proceeded with his typical routine.

Gilbert had to fill his days as a non-country with regularity; his brother would be suspicious otherwise. He had devised this plan long ago, and so had adjusted his routine to fit. He started walking around the town months before he had decided to approach the Italian, just to set his face into the backdrop as a normal thing. Otherwise, his brother would have thought to link Feliciano's disappearance with Gilbert's behavior long before now.

As it was, when his brother _did_ come to his door to ask for information, the German still had yet to figure out when his older brother was lying.

The conversation never made it past Gilbert's porch. When the doorbell rung and the Prussian answered it, he immediately planned to step outside rather than invite his brother in, keeping a pleasant smile on his face. After all, baby West had last known him as a fairly upbeat man- before his loss and forced isolation- and if he acted any differently than that, he may as well admit that he had Feli holed up and tortured for the past month, because Ludwig wouldn't stop trying to investigate until he was sure his brother had nothing to do with the small nation's disappearance.

"Ya need something, West?"

"Yes. I suppose I do." Ludwig leaned, as if to look over Gilbert's should when he held the door open. "I had been wondering if you have seen Feliciano lately, as I haven't for quite some time."

"Oh, is the runt lost?" Gilbert took a step over the threshold, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. "I'm afraid I haven't seen the little guy for a few months, back when he visited in winter." He changed his expression to a proper mix of seriousness and curiosity. "How long's he been gone?"

Ludwig eyes narrowed, and Gilbert momentarily panicked in his head, thinking he wasn't playing his part properly. "A month or so. I've asked around, and a shopkeep in this town that sells a fruit he likes said that he left with a man that fit your description."

"Really? Huh…" Gilbert feigned thinking, and blinked as if something dawned on him. "Oh, yeah, I think I remember that… I offered the guy lunch, I think, but I can't remember much than that. I couldn't even tell you what direction he left once we finished."

"So you truly have no idea where he is?"

Gilbert shook his head, taking note of the hard look in his brother's eyes. "Sorry, no. It's terrible, to think a guy so happy like that is missing. Wonder what could have happened."

"Yes." Ludwig nodded, that hardness yet to leave his look. "I'm sorry to have troubled you. But could you do me a favor, and return my messages when I call?"

Gilbert smiled, laughing as if the situation were amusing. "It seems I misplaced my phone sometime ago. It's yet to turn up, and I just haven't bothered getting a replacement yet."

"Right… Well, goodbye."

"Bye."

Gilbert waved him off as his brother walked down the stairs and off the porch, turning to go inside once the man was halfway down the drive. He continued watching Ludwig until he entered his car from a side window, gritting his teeth at the entire encounter.

Good ol' West, always worried for his little Italian boy. He thought it funny how he never saw anything resembling that concern when Gilbert was forced away from the world. Maybe it would help him in more ways than one to create a suitable country out of Feliciano.

Feliciano gasped in shock, immediately tensing in reaction to Gilbert's fairly rough wake-up call. The man above him had a pleasant, friendly grin- like practically every time the Italian had seen him- and gave a chuckle to Feli's reaction.

"Come on, get up. You should shower again." Gilbert jacked his thumb over his shoulder to the direction of the bathroom. "There're clothes in there too. Are you ready for step three?"

The Italian nodded, pushing his aching and creaking body to stand, stumbling off what Gilbert had put him on- a bed- to the door of the tiled room, completely ignoring the fact he had left his towel behind. As he closed the door, he heard his host call back to him.

"Get clean, but be quick! We have a guest."

Feli made no noise to acknowledge that he heard that, but Gilbert didn't bother repeating it. Perhaps tardiness, in this instance, wasn't important.

His time in the bathroom was particularly uneventful, minus the mishap at the end where he nearly couldn't pull himself back to his feet. He sat at the bottom of the shower, using the water falling on him to scrub off the dirt and caked blood. For a short while, he legitimately couldn't tell the difference between the pain of his scrubbing and the pain of a reopened cut until he looked at the pink water pooling around him. He took better care after that, not wanting to mess up any more evidence of Gilbert's care to his wounds, and moved to wash his hair. That was a surprisingly difficult task; not only was his hair so matted with sweat, oil, and various other substances, but the simple act of lifting his arms was near impossible. It took a while, his hands shaking violently and his muscles burning as his joints protested, but he managed to wash his hair multiple times, getting most of the filth off.

He scrabbled, using the metal bar in the shower to pull himself while trying to use his legs to push, until he was standing enough to hobble out. There was a new feeling, a sort of vitalization, after getting clean. He sighed, smiling, as he moved to his next ordeal: pulling on clothes.

The feeling of cloth against his skin was as unfamiliar as the warm water was, but he quickly got over it, pulling on layers of clothing until he looked as put together as he could make himself. It was a high-quality officer's uniform, reminiscent of German military, that would have fit him incredibly well if he were still the measurements he was before he went to the basement. He made a note to return to that state of health, preferably with more endurance and muscle mass, as he took in how awkwardly the material hung off his frame.

Looking over the area with the sink, he noticed a new, packaged toothbrush, complete with white paste beside, on the counter. Inspecting his mouth in the mirror, he immediately used the utensils, not brushing very hard but ending up spitting pink foam all the same, and moved to grab the hairbrush.

He hated his hair; it was too long. He made another note to have it cut as he turned away from the mirror and, with a certain degree of difficulty, twisted the knob to the door open.

Gilbert sat in an armchair, looking up to captive when the door opened. He nodded at the outfit, giving a mumbled _great_, and motioned the Italian to follow him as he rose.

He first led the man to the kitchen, of course, making him sit in the seat with a plate of bread, cheese, and assorted light fruits. He knew how to care for a practically starved person; even though he had been feeding him oatmeal, anything heavy like pasta would just be vomited within minutes. The man's stomach surely wouldn't stand it, even with Italian's previously robust metabolism and appetite.

Gilbert needed to take care of Feliciano at the moment. He knew the effects of his actions well enough, and he hardly needed to risk the smaller nation's health any more than he already had. It was careful treading from here. The man looked thin enough to break in half if Gilbert so much as touched him too hard.

Feli slowly picked at the food, eating the bread mostly. He practically guzzled the water, to the point that Gilbert stopped bothering to refill the glass, opting to instead let the man drink as he wanted from the pitcher. At some insistence, he finally got the smaller one to eat a few pieces of fruit, even as he winced at the sharp and sweet flavor.

Gilbert eventually conceded, happy enough with what the man had already ingested, and stood again.

"Step three, then?"

Feli looked at him and nodded, following again when Gilbert left the kitchen. The path through the house felt a bit familiar to him, but it wasn't until Gilbert opened the door that it had come back. They were heading to the cellar again. Feli's footsteps slowed, lagging for a second, as they went down the steps, keeping a few feet as a buffer between himself and his host.

Gilbert stopped in the middle of the room and flipped on the lamp on the little collapsible table. With the light aimed towards himself, he turned with an almost ecstatic smile to Feli, using his hand to wave him closer.

"Come here, friend. I have something important to ask."

He wrapped an arm around Feliciano's almost skeletal shoulders as he motioned with the other to what sat on the table. A revolver, glinting its metallic parts in the old yellow light, sat on a tray. The Italian could only presume it was loaded, and that thought shot a feeling through him. He wanted to label that feeling as fear, but he didn't feel that it was right.

"Have you ever killed anyone, Feli?"

He shook his head, his eyes not straying from the shining, _singing_, weapon on the table.

"I imagine West would shoulder the harder stuff. War and all, it's never easy, but I supposed he would try to keep you from experiencing the worst."

Gilbert took the gun and placed in Feliciano's hand, wrapping his fingers until the Italian's feeble grip supported it solely.

What purpose did a gun have here? It's an empty basement, and if Gilbert wasn't going to use it on him, or use it to threaten him, why have it? Target practice was best outside, with the least chance of accidentally hitting yourself if the bullet reflected. Feli's eyes narrowed at the contraption in his hand. Just carrying it, it felt too powerful for his weak grasp.

He was about to turn to Gilbert, to try and ask with his dead voice what was going on, when Gilbert re-aimed the lamp to the far wall. There was more glinting, this time off the chains that were once around Feli's wrists. Now, a shaking, stocky man in his mid-forties donned them. With a calm smile, Gilbert gently raised Feliciano's hand to aim it at the man.

"It's really easy, Feli. From a friend to a friend, I can tell you that shooting this man is the easiest thing to do." Gilbert leaned in, knowing the kind of thoughts and doubts that Feliciano would be having. The boy wasn't an idiot; he could deduce what Gilbert wanted him to do. "This man is a rapist and a murderer, suspected to be the bringer of death to a family of three."

Gilbert kept Feliciano's arm steady as it began to falter, his muscles unused to being kept in that position for so long.

"All the evidence points to him. The only reason why he's not being prosecuted is because I found him first. Don't you think he deserves to die with that kind of crime?"

The Prussian felt, rather than heard, the steadying breath his companion took. The man stared, expressionless, into the wide and fearful eyes of the gagged murderer. His mind flitted with thoughts, many of them bickering about the morality of the situation, until he finally decided. This would help him, because Gilly told him too. His friend was here to help. He just needed to learn to decide that following his advice was sound.

He took another deep breath and squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times. The man crumpled, and the sight and sounds of the event finally broke through Feli's careful attempt to keep stoic. The noise was so loud, it hurt, his ears were ringing, was Gilbert saying something?

He killed someone. He just shot and killed someone. Did that make him like the person bleeding on the floor? How could he be a good friend if he's a murderer? Ludwig wouldn't want him. Gilbert probably didn't want him. Three bullets. He overdid it. He must have. Gilbert was probably saying something about how he was too excessive. That he didn't want to help.

His frantic thoughts didn't catch up to his actions, and he pulled the gun in to his temple without really thinking it through. He just knew. He was monster for what he just did.


	6. Ground Alive

Gilbert's smile only increased as he saw the man slide to the floor, his blood leaving a trail on the wall as he collapsed. He addressed Feli, not bothering to turn.

"Great job, kid! I know it must've been hard since it's the first time by the sounds of it, but I promise it's for the best. He was a terrible guy, ya know?"

The Italian was still under Gilbert's arm. It didn't even feel as if the man was breathing. The larger nation looked to inspect the other's face, momentarily concerned; he didn't expect this kind of reaction. Should he have?

"Hey, Feli, are you- _no!_"

He watched Feliciano pull the gun in closer, recognizing the movement quickly enough. A sharp tug pulled the gun off its aim enough to fire at the ceiling. Gilbert counted that as the fourth shot, the last round in the revolver, and smacked the heavy metal thing out of the weaker man's grasp.

The sudden movement jerked Feli out of his spiraling thoughts, turning to see his host absolutely _fuming_ beside him. The albino man's usually pale skin was red in anger, his eyes flashing with the amount of emotion he wasn't controlling. Feliciano was afraid; he messed up. He surely messed up.

Feli counted a full minute before Gilbert silently reined his feelings back into check. The man gave a laugh, an awkward, out-of-place thing given the situation, before making his face pleasant again. Gilbert bent to pick up the revolver, quickly letting the spent shells fall onto the table before setting it down and turning back to Feli.

"I think that's fine, for today, don't you?"

Feli made no answer. He didn't speak or nod, just turned to follow his host again.

Gilbert paid no mind to Feliciano's clear struggle to get up the stairs, only bothering to stop in the doorway to the next room to make sure the hobbling man didn't get lost. When he was sure Feli knew the direction he was supposed to go, Gilbert went to the next doorway to repeat the process. Childishly necessary games of follow the leader. _I should break a fucking bone of his for that stunt he tried._

It was so hard for him to keep his friendly demeanor. He never had to struggle with it so much previously, but that idiot almost cost him months of work and planning to end up with nothing. Not just nothing, but practically without a mean to start again. With how guarded Ludwig and every other country were with him, Gilbert was practically certain that the only person this plan could work with was Feliciano. _But the stupid fuck had to try to screw things up._

No, he had to stay calm. He wasn't far enough into the plan to be completely secure with the Italian's state of mind, especially with that incident. If he could be patient just a little longer, he was sure it would all fall into place. Onto step four.

Gilbert finally led Feli to the proper room. The space was set up as a mock war room, the table having a map spread across it with figurines marking allies and enemies. He hoped the purpose was obvious enough to the other man; the rest of the day would almost be as difficult as step three if it wasn't.

He situated the two of them in the room with the table between them. He watched the Italian look over the table, reading the names and places on the map, before he glanced up to meet Gilbert's eyes.

"Step four. Have you ever mobilized your army effectively?"

Feliciano thought and shrugged. He probably had, but nothing immediately stuck out of his memory. He was too preoccupied with worrying. His friend had been incredibly angry. He was waiting for Gilbert to stop helping him because of how much trouble he caused.

"You're going to have to speak eventually, you know. West won't like it if you've gone mute."

Feli started a word before immediately devolving into a coughing fit, clearing his throat and trying again. "Not that I recall."

Oh god, his voice was terrible. He should probably refrain from speaking more with the state it was in. It would grate on both of their nerves, trying to deal with it.

"Good. Okay, well, step three is essentially studying." He gestured to a pile of papers at the edge of the table. "These are troop movements and medical reports from hypothetical battles and wars. All you have to do is read through them and pick up on what detail caused the battle's turnout."

"Okay," Feli mouthed, pulling the stack to him. His breath wasn't forceful enough to make any real sound from his pathetic vocal chords.

Some of the battles weren't very easy to tell how there was a clear victor or loser, while others were obvious enough. Some of the battles sounded familiar, and he realized that he had supposed to study some of this with Ludwig previously. He couldn't even recall in what particular meeting these strategies were discussed; he hardly paid attention to any of them, too focused on when he could next eat or sleep.

He could feel the draw of it now, lazing off with good food and a nice rest. But he wouldn't do that to his friend. After all Gilbert had gone through, even with Feliciano messing up, he still tried to help him. Feli wouldn't do him the disservice of slacking off. He owed his friend that.

"This one," Feli muttered, clearing his throat to speak a bit better. "I think they won because… there were diseases the invading party weren't prepared for, so most of their men were sick when they went into battle."

"Good. What about this one?"

Feli blinked, looking up to his friend. He got it right? Did he really? Maybe he wasn't a complete failure. Maybe he'd be able to better control his country's army in time. He could only hope.

They continued on, Feli being correct for the most part, only missing the ones he couldn't clearly identify immediately, until Gilbert said it was time for dinner. He made Feliciano eat bead and fruit again, insisting on some cheese this time, along with the large amount of water the smaller nation seemed to be dying for. Gilbert didn't really understand why the Italian was drinking so much; he had been sure to properly care for that need over the past month. Perhaps it was a symptom of something psychological, something he couldn't see or understand.

Once Gilbert was content with food Feli ate- even going as far as eating a small meal himself- he ushered the man upstairs, putting him in the room across his own. He gave him a single order to stay in the room until he came back and left to go back downstairs, doubting that the smaller nation would have anything close to a good night's rest with his reaction to pulling a trigger.

The Prussian quickly dealt with the body of the dead man, the room smelling foul again thanks to the corpse's lack of control of its excretions. He already hated the need to clean the floor so often, but that was the drawback of dealing with people- they tended to stink, alive or dead. He heaved the corpse into the boggy marsh that he had more or less painstakingly constructed himself behind his little obstacle course. It wasn't as if there was a tendency for people to check his property, and the marsh was in such a way that the long grass easily concealed the bloated and floating body.

He turned without a regret to go back to his room. He had lied to Feli when he said the man was a murderer. In truth, he was just some unlucky businessman that he coerced into his house for the sole purpose of teaching Feliciano how to kill. It was probably the most useful that man had been in his entire life. Gilbert was sure the guy would've been grateful for his contributions to a new society.

Well, probably not, seeing as how Gilbert only planned for the new society to benefit himself.


	7. Sounds Survive

Gilbert awake the next morning to immediately check on Feliciano. He had slept lightly through the night because of the experimental nature of the entire thing, but he still couldn't be sure. He had misjudged the course of action the other nation would take before, after all, and it was so very important that the Italian stay with him.

When he opened the door, he expected to find either an empty room or the person he was searching for sprawled out on the bed. Instead, he saw boots of horizontal person on the other side of the room. The kid had lied on the floor instead of the bed. It didn't even look as if the man had tried sleeping on the softer surface.

"You didn't leave."

He was standing over the Italian. He hadn't been sleeping, only staring at the ceiling.

"No."

"Why?"

Feliciano blinked, and Gilbert was almost relieved to see a bodily reaction. If he hadn't shut down completely, then he could still be used. He watched the man roll to his side to carefully push himself up, repositioning to sit cross-legged on the floor.

"I can't be better unless I'm here."

Gilbert nodded, and nudged the other country's knee with his foot. "Well, then get up. You need to eat."

It was the beginnings of a routine with them. Feliciano followed Gilbert to the kitchen, where he set up another plate of fruit and bread, and then to the mock war room. They never went to the basement again, no matter how many days progressed, and Feli wasn't sure if the feeling he had when he thought about that fact could be labeled as happy or not.

He got better at the strategy and war lessons. He failed fewer times with the non-obvious battle reports, though that was a very slow improvement, but it seemed to be encouragement enough to Gilly. He had already started Feliciano on a third tier of difficulty, which was proposing a certain strategy for invasion when given details about both sides of the war.

Coming up with the strategy was difficult, even after looking over so many reports for the past few days. He had never actually thought that way, and after a while he believed that it just wasn't an activity he would be good at. But Gilbert was almost incessant, soon switching his entire 'curriculum' solely to inventing his own strategy. The process of creating winning strategies was even slower going than guessing the losing detail in a battle that seemed to be a draw.

After a few weeks, Feliciano found himself sitting in a chair, poring over the papers, when chime rang through the house. A word tried to drag itself into his mind, a name for the sound, but he couldn't quite grasp it. He had come to realize that was a frequent occurrence, holes in his vocabulary that weren't there previously. It was a distracting enough dilemma that he didn't realize that Gilbert had left. Probably to investigate the noise. He would take care of it. Feli went back to his reading.

* * *

><p>"Brother, what have you been doing?"<p>

Gilbert should have prepared a bit more for this impromptu interrogation in his front door. As it was, he had to steer the conversation and keep it in a normal volume. Feliciano was close enough to hear Ludwig if he started yelling.

"Existing, mostly. Why?"

Ludwig narrowed his eyes at Gilbert's serious expression and flat voice. _I just have to play this right_, Gilbert thought, _and Ludwig wouldn't be suspicious anymore._

"You haven't been outside in a number of weeks. I'm… concerned."

"Aw, my baby bro checking up on me?" Gilbert added mock emotion in his voice with a fake smile, before dropping it again. "If you're worried I ended up like Feli, don't be. I'm just worried too."

"You are?"

Gilbert blinked, faking surprise and then narrowing his eyes in annoyance. An easier emotion for him to play that looked similar to offense. "Of course I am. The guy doesn't deserve anything bad happening to him. Have you heard anything about what could have happened?"

Ludwig paused, and for a moment Gilbert couldn't guess the emotion behind the expression, and spoke again. "No, I haven't. It's been making me sick, thinking about what could have happened. What could be happening. Some of the other countries are starting to worry too. I've heard Arthur comment on it to Francis once."

"Right. Well. Sorry, but I don't think I'm capable of helping."

"Have you still not found your phone?"

"Uh, no. I haven't really been trying to look for it, ya know? Too focused… on other things."

Gilbert watched West nod, hoping the man was content enough with the charade he was pulling.

His brother apologized for intruding, and turned to leave. Gilbert only lingered long enough to see him down the steps before going back inside, only pausing when Ludwig called back to him.

"Oh, brother. One of these days, I think we should have a beer. As family."

Gilbert forced a smile to split on his face, kicking down the feelings of anger that the thought stirred. "That sounds great, West. I think I'll have to take you up on that, someday."

With that, the Prussian shut the door, locking the deadbolt and checking to see if his brother made it back to his car. He lingered by the curtain as he saw the sedan drive off, dust billowing from the tires from his dirt driveway. _That fucker, thinking he can just call on me whenever he damn well pleases. He forgets I exist unless I turn out to be convenient._

He closed his hand into a fist, tensing enough for his arm to shake. He had to calm down before he went back to Feliciano. The nation's ability to succeed seemed to reflect what he thought Gilbert was feeling. The man was almost too high-maintenance; Gilbert was exhausted with pretending to be genial. Perhaps he was ready to incorporate the rest of the plan.

Gilbert hadn't been able to pinpoint how deeply the event in the basement had affected Feliciano. He knew the man was getting almost exactly enough sleep to remain at the proper mental capability and that in itself denoted a lack of night terrors, but he was sure there was something he couldn't see swirling around in that Italian brain of his.

Feli only barely glanced up from the papers when Gilbert returned. He'd heard the man talking somewhere else in the house, but couldn't clearly hear words. So he just sat and continued studying, only speaking to address a possible detail to add to his current mock invasion plan.

The day ended with dinner, the meals getting heartier the more the Italian regained his strength. Gilbert had once commented that he was nearly ready for strength training, making a point to say it was different than the obstacle pit Feli had gone through when he started his lessons. Feli nodded, having long since decided to trust the word of his dear friend.

When Feli got up the next morning, he could tell that something was wrong. Usually, Gilbert came in to take him to breakfast, and then pick up where he left off on the pretend war. This time, though, he never came in. The twisting hunger in his gut made Feliciano leave the room; he didn't dare think on what his friend's absence could mean, using all of his might to push the thoughts away.

He picked his own food, chopping an apple and taking a roll of bread, before going to sit with the papers. His usual routine was silent now, devoid of his comments and Gilbert's praise. He moved the pieces to match his plan, but couldn't proceed much farther without Gilbert playing the part of the defending nation.

Some hours into his practice, he heard noises from other areas of the house. It was muffled through the walls, and he initially didn't think to worry about it. The noise continued, not changing from the low, far-off volume, until it stopped as suddenly as it began. There was curiosity about it, but also annoyance; he was working to be a better tactician, so that Ludwig wouldn't have to worry about a second country's military.

Gilbert walked in eventually, looking as if he had been searching for Feliciano throughout the house. His face was flushed, not in anger, but from activity, and Feli wondered what he could have possibly been doing to look so out-of-sorts.

"Ah, there you are. You got right to work? Good job."

Gilbert smiled, trying to make his grin proud. The nation needed encouragement, needed to be enthusiastic about continuing the plan. It sometimes just felt like he was training a dog; though, he supposed that was almost exactly what he was doing.

"You trust me, right?"

Feli looked up, completely sidetracked from his focus on the papers. He was glad that his voice had improved with his health. "Yes."

"Good. Put that stuff down and follow me. Make notes in case you forget where you were."

Feli put the papers back down on the table and went with Gilbert without a moment's consideration of why today was different. He forced himself to breath deeply when he saw the path they were taking through the house. The basement again. Step three wasn't finished. He had to do it again.

This time, when Gilbert turned on the lamp on the little table, it was a woman huddled on the floor. She tried to pull her knees into herself, but was stopped from that by more chains. Instead she kept her hands near her face, hunched over and practically hugging herself with fear.

Gilbert moved Feli's hand over the gun- one shot, this time- and stood behind him, his hands almost braced on the Italian's shoulders. Feliciano hesitated for a second, afraid of the noise he knew the gun would make, before slowly curling his fingers around the handle.

The Prussian didn't bother fabricating a story for the woman. He was merely set on getting Feliciano to perform the act on order.

"You're going to shoot her, okay?" Gilbert murmured, leaning in so that his voice would cut through the thoughts of other nation. "She has to die, and you need to do it. This will make you strong."

Feli lifted the gun, taking aim at the woman's frightened form.

"Ludwig would want to see you strong, don't you think?"

The Italian's breath hitched as he sucked in air before it evened out.

"You, my friend, are strong enough to do this."

Feliciano resisted the urge to flinch from the recoil. It was so _loud_. He hated the ringing in his ears. Putting down the gun, he rubbed at them, trying to work the sound back into his head. Gilbert was saying things again, probably something about how the woman was still moving, dying, bleeding from the shot to her stomach.

The rest of the day was a giant blur. Gilbert took him back to the strategy room and admonished him when he couldn't immediately force himself back to work. He caught himself staring at the floor rather than the papers, not thinking over anything, just feeling the echo of the noise through his head. Eventually, he managed to shake himself to continue the war game with Gilbert.

He couldn't really taste much of his dinner.


	8. March Fight

It was a few more days before the routine changed again. Feli forced the thought of whom he had to shoot next away, trying his best to focus on his game. He was never told the man or woman's name. Maybe they weren't noticed. Maybe they didn't have any relatives. Maybe the woman was as terrible as the man was, and Gilbert just didn't feel the need to tell him. They were just nameless, soon to be faceless, humans that he shot because he needed to.

He could keep this thinking up. He wouldn't make his friend move his arm to reach for the gun the next time. He should be perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He was strong.

Gilbert finally came into the room to collect him. Feli immediately noticed that whomever the Prussian had caught was not as difficult to relocate as the woman had been- the normally pale face was not flushed with exertion. He didn't know what to take that as. Was it a good sign? A bad one? Was this time around going to be another one he messed up?

Feliciano took a deep breath, steeling himself as he followed closely behind his friend. He was only a step off the entire time, coming neatly up to his side when Gilbert switched on the lamp. Keeping his resolve as strong as he had promised to himself, he had the gun in his hand before Gilbert had turned away from the light.

The expression on Gilbert's face was guarded. He was trying to figure out if the willful participation was a good thing, not something that would repeat the fuck up the first time he had tried this. Carefully watching the Italian's face for any hint of change, he angled the lamp, as was his custom, to the small figure on the far wall.

It was a child, a skeletal and frail thing that required Gilbert to acquire a smaller set of wristcuffs.

Several moments passed without a change. The child- to small and dirty for its gender to be easily assumed- was quiet as he stared at the Italian holding the shining revolver, the silvery finish of the barrel glinting with the old yellow light of the lamp. Feliciano had given no protest, not outwardly, but Gilbert had long stopped trusting the other man's previous tendency to wear his thoughts on his sleeve. An unexpected calculation that he hoped he could overcome.

The air was still for what seemed like too long- something needed to happen _now_- and Gilbert opened his mouth, hastily digging up the memorized lines of motivation to get Feliciano moving.

An echoing crack stopped him from speaking, his eyes momentarily widening as he saw blood pour from the small thing crumpled on the floor.

That had gone almost a thousand times better than he had ever hoped. This was what he anticipated as the hardest kill he forced the other nation to do, and he felt almost _bouncy_ with what it meant. Everything could go faster. He could shorten his wait from a few months to a few weeks if everything kept at this pace. This was fantastic.

Feli laid the gun back on the table, forcing himself to look up at his friend. If he paid any more attention to the pool of liquid growing from the child's body, he may throw up.

"That was wonderful, Feli." Gilbert gave his companion a familiar pat on the shoulder. "Though I'm afraid we're not quite done down here."

He watched as emotion crept back into the other's face, his brow narrowing in an almost accusatory look of confusion.

"Yeah, I know, kid," he said. He gestured to the dead child. "You should know what happens after you shoot."

Feliciano felt legitimately tired when he went back to his room. It was a feeling that hadn't been around him for quite sometime, but at least he was of the mind to indulge in it. If he slept, the dark and blank dreamscape wouldn't bother to conjure up the images of those faces. The bloated, rotted, half-eaten faces of the two people he killed before today. He was thankful he didn't have to see them again. Or smell them.

He was back to what had become normal by morning. Any qualms about what he did the other day was forced from his mind, as they usually were. Even the nagging feeling that he had messed up again. He did hesitate that time. He was sure that his friend was disappointed in that, even when he gave out his energetic praise. Sighing before he opened the door to his room, he swore again that he wouldn't be so weak when he was inevitably asked to dispose of someone again.

Though he did wonder what the child could have done to be bad.

Gilbert met him on his way to the strategy room, stopping him and physically reorienting the Italian so that he faced the path to go to the basement.

"We're wrapping up step three in the next few days, so we're going to meet there until I say we don't."

Feli nodded, immediately going to the door leading into the damp and dark hell, leading the two of them for the first time.

The room was empty save for the table and its standard gun. The spot on the floor had been cleaned yesterday after Feli tossed the body into the marsh with the others, and the heavy metal chains sat in a heap. Gilbert left him there standing next to the lamp with the yellowed light that spurred the urge to puke. Maybe he could ask his friend to change the bulb to a whiter color. At least something that he could more easily see by.

He stood there for more than a few minutes, ticking them by in his head while he went over the last move he had made in the game. He felt that was more important, since Ludwig had spent so much time trying to get him to learn, so he didn't try to speculate what kind of person next awaited a bullet. That thought path sent uncomfortable pangs through his gut, worsening the vomit urge from the lamplight. Breaking from his current trajectory in Gilbert's plan to help him wouldn't benefit anyone. He refused to make all this time mean nothing.

A ruckus from above the stairs brought his attention back to the room he was in. Gilbert was dragging something, someone blindfolded and kicking, down the steps. This time was different; the person wasn't gagged, yelping out pain and angrily screaming their threats of police and prison. Gilbert grumbled his irritation at the loudness while Feli just watched as the man pulled the person into a kneeling position by the wall, chaining their hands behind them and finally removing the dirty cloth covering their eyes.

"Kid, come over here."

Feli walked around the table, coming close enough for Gilbert to pull him into another position, until the Italian stood looking directly down at the teary-eyed person. The vitriol that had be constantly spewing from the person's mouth died almost instantly when they looked up, watching the expressionless man above them as he took a firm grasp of the pistol Gilbert pressed into his palm.

Realization spread across their face as the tears spilled over.

"What," they started, croaking as Feli lifted the gun to press at their forehead. "What are you doing? Don't, please stop!"

"I'm being a good friend," Feli murmured in response, unblinking. The tears spilled out of their eyes as they grimaced their frantic confusion.

"What? No! Please don't! I didn't -!"

The bullet splattered bits of skull and brain on the wall behind them. The person collapsed, their fearful expression smoothing to a blank slate. Feli turned to hand the gun back to his friend and waited for the man to unchain the body. He didn't let that pathetic voice echo through his head as he dragged the corpse to the marsh.

Nor did he let the voices of all the others he executed over the next few days haunt him.

He refused to be burdened by their deaths. He wouldn't let the strength his friend had so painstakingly been building in him crumble away. Besides, he was sure they all deserved it. Gilbert told him so.


	9. End Now

The mass executions continued for a week. Feli's ears no longer held the echo of the gun, instead filling with Gilbert's praise. He was strong. He didn't care what these people did, how they cried, that they were living. He was making his friend happy. He was doing this to be better. And he was doing well. He didn't feel like a nuisance anymore.

He didn't feel like much of anything unless Gilbert gave him those words dripping with gold.

"You're _perfect_, Feli."

Gilbert had started discussing what sounded like a plan with him when he settled to study the war reports. Feli initially didn't quite understand what he was hearing, the mentions of Ludwig and home not immediately bringing anything but confusion to his mind.

The pale man wanted Feli to go home. Said he was ready enough to do it. Gilbert would go as well, walk him through the steps of what he called 'integration'.

"West will probably be a little mad initially, since you've been gone for months and all, but don't worry over it. All you have to do is play along, pretend you don't know where you've been, and go home to rest. Call me in a couple days after you settle and you'll be set to finish the last step."

Feli nodded unblinkingly. He didn't feel like questioning any of it. He'd trust his friend, follow his lead. He'd be a good soldier soon. Good soldiers carried out orders.

That was the last night Feli spent in his room. The next morning, he left Gilbert's house after breakfast- something he couldn't recall tasting, like all other mornings- shuffling down the dirt drive in an unfamiliar outfit leant to him by the Prussian. The slacks fit him well enough, but the dress shirt was loose, his shoulders not as wide as the other man's, even after the various training exercises. He didn't understand why he had to wear it, but he supposed he could suffer the ill-fitted shirt until he got to his country.

His first goal was to find a tourist's directory; he never actually learned the layout of the city before he left to stay with Gilbert. Picking at a folded map, he refolded it to show the road he wanted to take. He in half a mind to go back and ask Gilbert for pocket change just to buy a bus ticket for as far it would help. The prospect of walking so many miles would never appeal to him.

Somehow, it was impossible for to walk down the street in peace. After a few blocks, a child sitting on the shoulders of their parent cried, wailing a similar tone to the ones that had echoed in the walls of the basement. Feliciano grit his teeth as he passed them, trying kick his annoyance back down. That sound was so grating he could hardly stand it. Thinking of how he was once as loud as the child, he shuddered in self-revulsion. Gilbert was a blessing for what he did for him. He would need to find a way to repay the man.

He was in another city after a few hours, trading his map for one with more relevant information. He knew how tiresome this was going to be.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Feli didn't react at first to the person's voice, too busy tracing the best route to the next city.

"Sir?"

The Italian glanced up, taking less than a second to determine that he didn't want to talk to the woman in front of him, and moved to stand in a different place. All the woman needed to do was not follow him. But, of course, she wouldn't be so kind.

"You look like you could use help, sir."

Feliciano grumbled under his breath and turned to look at her fully. Her skin color reminded him of one of the people rotting in the marsh. Probably wasn't that pretty color anymore, though. Humans were gross throughout their life, it seemed.

"What do you want."

"Oh, you're a foreigner. Are you lost? Did a pickpocket get you?"

Feli gritted his teeth once again before forcing himself to relax and smile. Maybe she would leave him alone. He would like to continue on his way. She just had to leave.

"No," he said, trying to imitate pleasantness. "I don't have anything along the lines of a wallet. I'm trying to get back to my country, but it's been slow going. Even more so now that you're talking to me."

The woman blinked, taken aback by his sudden rudeness, before smiling in apology. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was just… I'll be going, then."

"Please do."

Feli went back to looking at the map, not paying attention to the woman standing two feet from him.

"You came out of the nuthead's house, you know?"

He sighed and glared over the paper. Why wouldn't she leave?

"I haven't a clue what you mean, dear." Another smile.

"That albino psychopath? He abducts people. You were in his house. You should know."

The smile almost turned genuine with amusement. "Of course I know. It would be hard to kill them otherwise."

"What?"

Grumbling, Feliciano folded the map up and forced it into his pocket. "I imagine one of them was a relative, if you followed me this long. Not that I would care who it was. Hell, they were probably annoying me. A lot of them begged. God, such a racket in that room. Felt like there was never quiet."

The woman screamed. Feli watched as her faced contorted, passing from horror, to anger, to pure madness. She scrambled with her purse, pulling out a silvery glinting thing. Ah, he was familiar with that.

"You'd probably be an annoying one, wouldn't you?"

He hadn't actually been trained in combat, so it was a poor idea of his to taunt the enraged woman with a knife. He was just tired, and she shouldn't have stopped him for such a stupid reason. She should have been grateful it wasn't her, that it was someone else. Though she probably deserved it more, acting on that need to threaten and kill him.

She lunged forward, and he didn't bother moving. He steeled himself from the pain, keeping his jaw locked to avoid any unnecessary injury. That was why he was gagged during step two, after all. Biting his tongue off in reaction to that burning pain would be the most counterproductive thing.

The woman made her mistake the instant she pulled away- she didn't take the knife. His mind was practically reeling in the face of her action. What idiot would leave a dagger in the hands of a murderer who had yet to collapse?

It's not like he's ever expressed a dislike to his actions.

He would regret his own choice of pulling the knife out his side sooner rather than later, but he figure it was an easier option. He grabbed the woman by her hair, pulling her away from the open and deserted sidewalk. She thrashed, yelling out angry and pleading things. _Such a racket_. He was only annoyed, irritation doubling as her blood poured over his fingers when he used the knife to cut away at her neck. It was so messy, this murder. He preferred the gun and its sharp retort to the gurgling and bubbling of a throat trying to breathe as it bled.

He could mask the blood as his own, as the white shirt was now dirty and stained, the mark having quickly spread from his abdomen. He kept pressure on it, hobbling back down the street. He regretted another decision- taking the back roads out of the town. There wasn't a single person or shop open. The tourist place with the maps didn't even have someone manning the counter.

When a new sound entered his awareness, some hundred yards away from the alley where the woman would begin her decay, he paused, lurching back to look for the direction it came from. The echo was bad here. Too many buildings, not enough green. Nothing to dampen the noise and tell him where it started. It grew louder, trying to dredge up a memory. A thing. A noisy, growly thing.

A car. He was remembering Ludwig's car. The muscle-y thing sounded so different from the rattle and pings of the people who frequented the streets he was walking. It whipped around a corner, as if the driver wasn't paying attention, and passed him without a hesitation. Turning another corner, Feli only looked after it, counting to three before he heard the telltale squeal of tires burning to a stop. He counted to five before he saw it come back, much slower, and pulled up beside him.

Ludwig didn't bother turning off the engine when he threw the door open to look at Feli. The shock of seeing the missing man so bloody and out of sorts made him pause, mouth agape, for more than a few seconds before he could hurriedly usher him into the car.

The ride to a hospital was fast, as was the conversation. It was over too quickly before he could notice that Feliciano's personality had ultimately changed. The usually talkative man didn't volunteer any more information than what Ludwig asked, but that could so much more be due to the fact that he was bleeding out on the seat.

The man didn't even groan in pain when Ludwig helped him stagger into the emergency room. The man who would usually cry legitimate tears after being smacked on the head didn't make a sound as he walked and sat with an open knife wound. It made Ludwig shudder when he thought back on it.

Feliciano pretended to sleep after the surgery and stitching for the sake of avoiding more questions. He was so used to Gilbert and his taciturn tendencies that he had forgotten that other people didn't already know everything about him and would almost always want information.

The car ride alone was exhausting, even if he had to chalk most of the feeling up to the blood loss.

He would have to talk to Ludwig again eventually, convince the man to let him return to Italy and manage his country's affairs. He'd been putting that off since forever. Now he had all the reason to muddle in its workings. He knew what to do with it. His friend had told him the basic plan. It was sure to be simple and easy.


	10. All Tower

Ludwig was almost to the point of tearing out his hair. Months had gone by, _months,_ without a word from his friend, and then the man pops up out of nowhere again, hardened and dirty and bleeding, only to practically run off back to Italy. He was nearly as unreachable as when he had skipped off. It was going to drive him up the wall, not knowing what was going on with his friend.

He initially took the first few days of silence as Feliciano healing, especially after practically throwing a fit to get the hospital to release him ahead of schedule. After that, he had asked Ludwig to buy him a plane ticket, borrowing his cell phone to call whoever housed him when he wasn't training with the German. But once he waved him off, watching the bulkier man drop his not-as-bright smile to something cold, he hadn't heard a word. The phone calls to Feliciano's house and office didn't go farther than a secretary, a polite and aging man telling him that Feli was busy and didn't want distractions.

His confusion only deepened over the first week. He had gone back to call on his brother, to share the news of Feliciano's return- as the man had yet to pick up a phone- to find him refusing to answer. Either pretending to not be at home, or was actually not at home, no matter which, it made him grow suspicious. The two people he was tasked with watching were behaving oddly. If he didn't find an answer soon, other countries would wonder if he was doing something himself.

Whatever he did, he would have to do for both himself and his friend. Feliciano's absence must have been a grueling experience with the look the man could give. He had to help him return to normal, or at least heal from whatever trauma he had faced.

Because when he last saw him, that look was as dead and empty as Gilbert's when he was dissolved.

* * *

><p>"Great work, Feli. You've flown through all the prerequisites before I even got here."<p>

Feli nodded, and shuffled through a stack of papers to find a report. Flipping through it, he pulled out a sheet to hand to his friend. "The army is being bolstered with new recruits, however the campaigning isn't as effective as it would be in other places. My people don't seem to have much want for what we plan to do." Putting the stack down, he shifted to go through another. "But if people don't care about their country's strength, we could always implement a draft."

"Do you plan on faking a war?"

"Do I need to?" he replied easily. "All I have to do is say we're in a crisis and replace anyone who doesn't go along with it."

Gilbert's eyes narrowed, judging the man in front of him. At this point it was difficult for him to tell what had been so clear to him before: would he trick the Italian into attacking the rest of the world, or would he tell him his plan for revenge? He didn't have the luxury of messing up at such a crucial point, everything was moving smoothly and quickly, the man in front of him willing to work in whatever way he told him to.

At least, willing to work to become stronger. It was hard for Gilbert to remember that this had all started with that false promise to make Ludwig like him more. He was sure that West was plotting some way to talk to his friend. Gilbert had no intention in letting that happen.

"How about you actually make a crisis?"

Feli stopped reading over the paper he typed up for mistakes, looking instead at Gilbert. "Do you mean I should declare war with someone?"

"Yeah. If you defeat someone, their resources are yours. Their people, their land, everything they hold in reserve…"

"I'd be stronger if I took over another nation."

"Exactly."

* * *

><p>It was at Gilbert's insistence that Feli watched the initial attack. He stood in the bridge of his navy's flagship, listening as the Admiral did the captaining of the vessel. Monitors played the feed of the first wave over their heads, minus the audio. Gilbert didn't think the crew would be able to handle it as well as Feliciano could.<p>

Feli couldn't help but think all the extra studying he did on previous beach assaults was a waste of time. This was a time of relative peace, at least with this country, so why would there be a standing army on the shore? He wasn't even sure there was an army waiting further inland. Maybe he took too large of a force to this assault. Maybe he could use the extras to push further into the neighboring country. He'd take the tip of the peninsula then.

The conquest was finished by midnight; his troops ordered to press on until every major city was under their control and military outposts were wiped from the earth. He'd give his own army until the dawn to rest before he continued the invasion.

* * *

><p>His brother was the first of the people to call on him. The man oozed his rage from every pore, screaming every profanity he could think of at Feliciano with hardly a pause for breath. He ranted seemingly without end, until he abrupt pulled himself to a stop and grabbed Feli by the lapel.<p>

"Why haven't you said a word? Can't you say anything? How many people have you killed?"

Feliciano grabbed the southern Italian's hand, twisting it off of his jacket with a bit of difficulty.

"I lost count a long time ago, brother." He looked up and smiled. "But look how much better we are for it."

"You can't use our army-"

"My army. It's all been mine. Always has. I just haven't been taking very good care of it until late."

"You fucking _bastard_-"

Feliciano returned the grab, using his fingers to dig into the throat of his brother until the man choked and spat in his attempts for air.

"I'm not going to let you stop me from getting better. I'll be stronger than them. You can watch it happen on your ass for all I care. You don't matter here."

He released Romano, letting the man collapse to the floor in a heap of gasping and spluttering. He called to a man outside the door- his appointed secretary, courtesy of Gilbert- to take his brother under watch. Gilbert had persuaded Feli with an idea to postpone suspicions that would be placed on him, but if his brother left to tell Antonio or Ludwig, that idea would never come off the ground.

* * *

><p>Gilbert was beyond pleased with how Feliciano was playing the game he set up. Ludwig came, uninvited and unannounced, not long after he caught wind of Romano going missing. He resisted bursting into laughter with the glee that spread through him at the sight of West's speechlessness.<p>

Tearing through the base of operations, as a man on a mission was wont to do, coming upon Feli sitting at his desk with his simple smile and wondering look put him to a stop. Gilbert and Feli had spent hours attaining an imitation of what had once been Feliciano's behavior and mannerisms, making it as close to the easy, natural personality as was possible.

Ludwig and Feli spoke, and Feli played dumb on everything that was happening outside his office.

"Romano's missing? I didn't think wandering was in his nature."

"He disappeared after going to speak to you."

"Oh, but I haven't seen him… since well before I went left."

"What happened then?"

Feli smiled, forcing the lazy pleasantness to sit the right way on his face. "Ve… I don't really know. It's a big blur. From going to the market to the pain of a knife… Was I really gone for months?"

Ludwig exhaled a carefully held breath, and Feliciano hid how keenly he watched the other's movements.

"I was so worried about you. You aren't very well known for your care or strength, I feared something terrible had happened."

Feli forced the smile to stay on his face, keeping himself from gritting and tensing. _Still a burden. Always a burden. I won't be a nuisance anymore._ "I'm fine though, ve? And I'm sure Romano'll be just as well when he pops again."

"You were bleeding profusely when I found you."

"But I'm all better!"

"You've been waging a war."

"Ve?" Feli stopped a brief moment, dropping his charade for a second before donning a look of confusion. "I don't know what you mean. The politicians haven't called for any formal meeting for a thing like that. The military isn't even sturdy enough to defend against itself. All those months missing, apparently they didn't know what to do… They never seemed to know what to do, if you think about it."

"The majority of the Mediterranean Peninsula countries are under Italian occupation."

"I… I had no idea this was happening!" Feli changed his look to shock and horror. "I'll see what I can do. If I can get them to stop. I don't know why such a thing would happen."

"Neither do I."

Feli stood, nodding. "I'll get to the bottom of it, just leave it to me. You should go tell the others that I'll handle it."

"Are you sure you're capable of handling anything if it's a tyrannical politician leading this war?"

"Yes, Ludwig. I'm quite sure."

Ludwig didn't miss the tightening of Feliciano's jaw as he said it. He didn't remember his words having such an impact before. He certainly couldn't remember Feli ever having such stiff expressions.

"Well. I suppose I should leave the affairs of your country to you."

"Ah, thank you, friend!"


	11. Power Fall

Feliciano pinned another piece of felt to the board, covering the image of another country that had fallen. It was slower going now, bogged down fighting the might of more militarized nations. Or, at least, nations with the money to spend on their troops. He'd managed to spread further east than he initially expected in this amount of time, and was now pressed by the fact that there were environmental issues he couldn't overcome.

It was so late in the year. The temperature at his headquarters had already dropped a considerable amount; he could only imagine the weather further north.

He reworked his next proposal for attack, calling to focus more on the African nations rather than the northern and eastern countries. It was better if he simply wait half a year, to a time when the weather was amicable for a military operation. The plan now called for his troops to be stationed in the southern and coastal areas, places with temperatures that allowed them to stay alive in what little they had.

It was a few weeks further into his conquest that he managed to overtake the British Isles, around the time Alfred had mobilized the bulk of his own force to try and provide support. It was that pressure that spurred him to use what remained of Arthur's fleets, bolstering the navy that had just barely beaten the Isles to surrender.

He was nowhere near the mood to look at the cost of his movements. Had he ever decided to play the war through with the common courtesy of normal conventions, he would have, financially, never been able to mount the first assault. But bullying with large armaments did just as well as signing a large check- forcible procurement of steel and other supplies were always the option for hasty penny-pinching nations. Or it was now. He was never sure about those things.

Feliciano continued making and editing his plans, occasionally sending off a copy to Gilbert for evaluation. They were usually approved quickly with little to no alterations, allowing him to work as effectively as he could. They worked like this for a very long time, stretching all the way from the start and finish to the war. The only major denial Gilbert had was Feliciano's plan to take Germany, but Feliciano could understand the want to wait.

He'd show his strength to his friend last.

It was years before he took over the Asian continent, the ground too rocky and covered in mountains for easy troop movement. Russia was difficult as well, the cold ill-suited for the majority of his men, even the ones he had drafted from the fallen nations at his feet. When at last Ivan surrendered, Feliciano was quick to remove or destroy any supply depot that could aid in an insurrection. He worked too hard for it to be stopped by anyone.

Working through the remaining countries was a slow process, as it always had been, but he would persevere. Gilbert wanted tenacity in this war, and he wouldn't let his friend be disappointed, even when he tripped up in his efforts to take South America. He would show his friend the strength and intelligence he had spent so long instilling.

It was refreshing, pulling away from the remains of the last resisting pieces of military. Feliciano felt like he was finally breathing, free of the crushing weight that managing the war had quickly become. He still had a piece of the world left that wasn't under his thumb, but after so many years, it may as well have been. With all the resistances it had launched, and attempts at evacuation that had been shot clear out of the sky, the might of Germany would be negligible, even for one so war-weary as Feli.

* * *

><p>"Why would you doing something like this? So many innocents slaughtered, Feliciano! Why the hell could you have been thinking?"<p>

Feli rubbed at ears, Ludwig's yelling almost outclassing that horrible echo from so many years ago. The angry tone of that voice brought back feelings of sadness, from when he was pathetic and could still shed tears. He disappointed a friend. But he was so _strong_ now. Ludwig should have been happy for him. Happy that Feli no longer had to burden him. He was sure that if he asked, Gilbert would allow Ludwig to integrate peacefully into the rest of the world.

"Look at me, monster."

Feli opened his eyes to a squint, his hands still covering his head from the noise. His face blanched, staring into the dull metal weapon pointed his way. The barrel was shaking, the hand holding it unable to completely still itself, and Feliciano forced himself to look past it and up to his friend. Ludwig couldn't possibly mean to do this. He couldn't. He was his _friend_.

"I- I don't understand!" Feliciano finally cried, pressing his hands into his skull. Maybe he could squash all his thoughts from the outside.

"You should be able to fully comprehend what you did! You've killed billions of people, rampaged across the world while forcing me to sit and watch. I should've forced my way back long ago, I should've done _this_ long ago."

"Please Ludwig. I just wanted to be better! I was such a burden to you, I didn't want you to worry if I could handle-"

"West ain't gonna listen, kiddo."

Feli looked to his other friend with a frantic expression. He was scared. So scared. They were both holding guns, staring at each other with so much hate. What was happening to his friends? Why couldn't he doing anything?

"I'd appreciate it, little brother, if you didn't hold a gun to my puppet. Toys that useful are exceptionally hard to come by."

Ludwig whipped his arm to aim the gun to his brother, his rage building in his chest. "You forced him to do all this, brainwashed him to fit your needs?"

"Guilty." A sick smile. "You all seemed to forget I existed when you locked me away in that house. You never came to door until I took the little brat away. Sorry, West, but you should have expected something like this from me." He pulled the hammer back on his revolver, the silvery glint so familiar to Feli.

That gun echoed its retort, and Feliciano couldn't stop it from bouncing around in his skull. _Make it stop. Please, make the noise stop._

He registered the thud of a body collapsing to the floor a few minutes later. Gilbert hadn't moved much; standing with his gun to his side as he looked at the corpse of the brother he once spent so much care in rearing.

Feliciano cried, his sobs mostly silent, as Gilbert left the room.

* * *

><p>Hello! As you can see I decided to update and post this story all at once. I'm terribly sorry for abandoning this fic for so long, but the beginning was clearly reworked and it's completely finished! Throw a parade! There's a tiny little epilogue after this, but beyond that the story is done! And let it be known that I never once stated it was going to end happy.<p>

Thank you for those that reviewed and followed this story even when it was clearly dead for so many years! Now you can bask in the spam of update emails, I guess. I don't really know how that portion works, to be honest. Oh, and please excuse any of the errors you found while reading through this. I really haven't developed any urge to edit the things I make after I finish them. Combine that with the fact it's 3 AM by the time I saved this document, and I'm lucky to still be coherent.


	12. Epilogue

It was so cold now.

At least it was silent.

He couldn't feel much of anything.

Everyone was gone.

Why did they have to leave?

He didn't want to be alone.

He wanted to be strong

He was sorry

_I'm so sorry._

_You should have been able to tell I was lying._

_You were my friend. You have always been my friend._

_That doesn't mean much if you're me._

_I'm so alone._

_I'm here with you._

_Please don't leave me._

_There's not a place I can go where you can't drag yourself to follow._


End file.
